Of Flowers and Dances
by Angel of Neptune
Summary: "Oh, you should have seen the bouquet of flowers she gave me when I made my Broadway debut," Angie told Steve with a faint smile. "I wanted to return the gesture when SHIELD was established, but they don't really do bouquets for founding a government agency." (Based off the conversation between Steve and Angie from my fic, Lapses.)
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Of Flowers and Dances

**Author**: AoN (bellalinguista)

**Word Count**: 2,700

**Summary**: "Oh, you should have seen the bouquet of flowers she gave me when I made my Broadway debut," Angie told Steve with a faint smile. "I wanted to return the gesture when SHIELD was established, but they don't really do bouquets for founding a government agency."

**Notes:** Based off the conversation between Steve and Angie from my fic, _Lapses_.

**Chapter One: Flowers**

The vase filled with the most spectacular roses in front of the mirror of the new girl's section in the shared ensemble dressing room caused quite the commotion and speculation among the other actresses. There was no bother for hushed whispers as the message written on the card was passed around verbally ("Betty! I can't believe you opened someone else's card!" "Oh, please, it was open for everyone to see already! Who do you think 'E' is?")

Angie could not help but approach her section with a smug smile that only grew slightly with each male name she overheard starting with the letter E. Smile now genuine, Angie plucked the small stationary card from the roses. The familiar handwriting caused a flutter in the pit of her stomach – she chalked it up to debut night jitters.

The girl to her left leaned over and playfully smacked Angie's shoulder. "Debut show flowers, how sweet!" she gushed. "What's the lucky guy's name, huh? Let me guess – Ethan!"

"We already guessed that," someone said to Angie's right.

"Eric?"

"That too."

Instead of replying, Angie lifted the card up to get a better read.

'Break a leg, dear! – E.'

Among the many guesses of 'Edwards,' 'Evans,' and even the stray 'Edwin,' Angie kept the answer to herself. It was her own little secret, one that she did not have to share: the identity of the mysterious sender whose lips were often the same shade of those deep red rose pedals. It was equally often a shade of lipstick Angie enjoyed smudging from time to time.

Resting the card against the vase, Angie leaned forward to get a better look at her reflection in the mirror. It was time to get that stage make-up on, just like the girls showed her throughout the week Angie observed. It would soon become second nature, they told her, but for now, Angie was going through her mental checklist as best as she could.

It was not nerves that clouded her mind.

That also wasn't to say she wasn't nervous. She most definitely was. Soon, Angie would take her first step on stage in front of a live audience. She would recite her one line, midway through the second act, and perform all the new dance steps she had to learn in such a short amount of time. She would be doing all that to a sold out house.

Angie had plenty to be nervous about, but her mind was preoccupied by one person – the one person Angie desperately wanted to be here tonight, but couldn't make it.

'They gave me the night shift and no one will cover for me, love. I'm sorry.'

Couldn't she have called in? Feign falling ill, Angie suggested, but she was met with an excuse about a new chief running the office and something about impressions. Still not completely aware what Peggy did for a living, Angie had found herself wanting to push the issue even further – which government agency did she work for exactly? She'd talk to this chief personally. She'd make him feel even more comfortable than those colleagues of hers at the Griffith. It would look like child's play.

Peggy insisted that she would make it up to her – that she would attend every other performance this week, in the center of the front row. Angie told her not to be ridiculous and then left the mansion not in the best of moods, but these roses… they sure did help improve things.

And it was not as though Peggy had not heard the line or seen the dance routines before, considering that Angie rehearsed as often as possible in one of their living rooms, but… that was not the same as seeing it all come together on stage.

'You'll tell me all about it in the morning, won't you?' Angie recalled Peggy asking before she left. Angie hadn't responded. She left in a huff.

A tap on her shoulder tore her away from her thoughts and back to a reality where she only had a few minutes to get into her first costume for the first act. They were going to call places soon and they needed to be ready to go.

No more day dreaming.

This was it.

With her make up done, Angie rose from her place at the mirror and took one last look at the flowers at her station, at the note written in Peggy's elegant handwriting. So her English couldn't be here in person, but she was thinking of Angie and, well, that was still pretty good, right?

After changing into her costume, Angie followed after a small group of her fellow performers to take their places in the wing, near the main curtain that would soon be drawn. The dancer in front of Angie turned her head over her should to whisper, "You know if you take a step back and lean forward a bit, you can see the audience in the first few rows."

"Oh?" Angie whispered back.

"Yeah! Why don't you try it out? Maybe you'll spot Mr. E!"

She highly doubted it, but for the sake of illusion, Angie took a step back and leaned forward as she was told to grant herself a peek of the chattering audience. Some were chatting while others flipped through the program as they waited for the production to begin – any minute now, a few were probably telling themselves as they checked their pocket watches. There were even a couple audience members who already looked dreadfully bored. Angie guessed they were probably dragged to the theatre against their wills. Their tickets could have gone to those who wanted to be here, right? Especially those who wanted to be here, but were stuck in the office, like-

Suddenly, Angie froze in the slightly awkward position she found herself in.

She must have gasped audibly. She caught the attention of the dancer who revealed this little secret.

"Did you spot him?"

"No," Angie quickly lied, standing up straight. Well, it wasn't a complete lie, no. She had not seen a mystery man, only because there was no such man, but Angie did spot the sender of those beautiful red roses.

Peggy Carter was not at her government office.

No, Peggy Carter was sitting slightly to the right in the third or fourth row. In the quick glance Angie managed to get, she saw Peggy sitting up, eager, watching and waiting for the curtain to rise. How long had she been there? Who covered her shift? Was there even a shift that needed to be covered to begin with? Did Peggy read the program already? Did she see Angie's short, little mention?

Then a rather dreadful question crossed her mind: had she really seen Peggy or was her mind just playing tricks on her?

With every intention of getting a second look, Angie leaned forward again, but the house lights dimmed, making it rather difficult to spy on the audience. The orchestra pit came to life and the music began to swell. The hushed voices become silent and the curtain started to rise.

Angie's heart was beating hard and fast. It was deafening. She wasn't even able to hear her cast mate in front of her wish her luck. Oh, God – did they say 'good luck?' Surely they didn't – you know, since that was actually considered to be bad luck. More than likely, they said 'break a leg,' right?

You know how did express 'break a leg?'

That handwritten note in her shared dressing room, penned by Peggy, who was probably sitting in the third or fourth row, but Angie wouldn't be able to know for certain until the end of act one.

As the curtain came down and the lights grew bright once again in the house for intermission, a breathless Angie ignored the not so secretive whisperings coming from her cast mates ("Oh, yes, Mr. E is definitely here tonight!") and she peeked out at the audience, most of which had retreated out to the lobby to stretch their legs, among other things.

"Third or fourth row to the right," Angie mumbled to herself.

"To the right, huh?" someone repeated. What was her name again? Betty?

"Third or fourth row," confirmed another. "Is that him, Angie? Well, aint he a decked out dreamboat!"

She didn't know who they signaled out, nor did Angie bother to look. She didn't have to, not when she found the person she had been looking for in the crowd. Angie hadn't imagined a thing: there she truly was, sitting in her seat still, flipping through the program in an attempt to kill time. Angie should have known Peggy would be here, that Peggy couldn't have missed this important night.

"Well, Angie?"

The corners of her lips tugged into a smile and her cheeks flushed. "Come on, ladies," Angie replied. "We need to get ready for act two."

Not that her response satisfied them in the slightest.

They followed Angie back into their dressing room and their never-ending questions came with them. A glance at her roses turned her smile into a smirk. They would have to accept the fact that E would remain a mystery since they had more important matters to attend to. Make-up needed to be touched up, costumes needed to be changed, and Angie needed to prepare to deliver her line.

By the end of intermission, the questions ceased, or maybe Angie had succeeded in drowning them out by humming the opening number they were about to perform to herself. The second act went by faster, more of a blur than the first. It was all such a whirlwind: this had been her dream. This was now her reality. She was gracing a Broadway stage! Sure, it was in a small part in the ensemble, but everyone had to start somewhere, right?

This was her start.

She worked hard for a year to get to this start – all those trains rides to auditions that lead to nowhere and all those double shifts at the automat to cover rent, headshots, and acting classes, among other things. Those all lead to this start, Angie reminded herself as the house lights came up once more. With the rest of the ensemble, Angie approached the edge of the stage to take a bow – her first bow! They were met with mild applause, but Angie had braced herself for such. Of course she didn't expect a standing ovation. That was just silly.

As Angie rose from her bow, she looked out into the audience – the third or fourth row to the right, to be more exact. No, she hadn't expected a standing ovation, but there Peggy was, on her feet, still applauding. Angie's smile grew wide as their eyes met and she bit back a small laugh as she made a quick mental note to thank Peggy for putting herself in the awkward situation. Angie knew Peggy was not a fan of unwanted attention and, right now, the patrons around her were either glancing or shifting uncomfortably in their seats as they probably wondered why this woman was so enthused about the ensemble.

"We gotta move!" a hissed whisper came from Angie's left, followed by a gentle push, causing her to momentarily lose Peggy in the crowd.

With her cast mates, Angie retreated to the side of the stage, allowing her fellow actors to have their own moments to bow. Angie continued to smile and continue to clap, but every now and again, Angie caught herself stealing glances out to the audience, trying to find Peggy again. If she could have, Angie would have rushed off stage at once, but she had to wait for the curtain to fall.

As soon as it had, Angie took off for the dressing room, dodging cast, crew, and congratulations as she went. The stage make-up wasn't too ridiculous – if anything, it made her look like a young starlet. Like Ginger Rogers, even! Angie decided to keep it on, she'd be out of the theatre faster that way.

Not that she was rushing for any peculiar reason.

She wiggled out of her costume and haphazardly threw it back on its hanger. On second thought, Angie doubled back to straighten it out. She didn't want to give the director, stage manager, producers, or, well, anyone, to find even the tiniest reasons to give her the boot.

Angie slipped back into her own simple and modest blue dress and dark heels. Peggy had helped her pick out tonight's attire the day Angie discovered she had won the part. She wanted to look good for her debut performance. Peggy had told her she would look more than good – she was so beautiful. Blushing at the memory, Angie's gaze lingered on the roses once more. She picked up the card and stuck it into the frame of her mirror, where it would remain always – that corner of all the mirrors of all the dressing rooms of all the different productions that would come in the future.

For each one, Angie would have her dear English wishing her luck.

Angie slung her purse over her shoulder and made her way to the stage door, leaving her roses behind. Stepping outside and onto the sidewalk, Angie spotted a familiar face waiting across the street.

"Oh, Miss Martinelli!" Peggy grinned as Angie crossed the road. "May I have your autograph? You were quite wonderful tonight!"

"You weren't too shabby yourself there, Peg," Angie remarked, folding her arms across her chest. "No one to cover your shift, huh?" she added, raising her eyebrows.

Peggy reached out and placed a hand on Angie's forearm. "Truly, there wasn't," she insisted. "I'm now indebted to Daniel – maybe we could get him some tickets?"

"Yeah, maybe – speaking of tickets how did you-"

"I may have purchased it from the box office as soon as we knew the date of your first performance," Peggy confessed, looking down at her purse that she had placed on the sidewalk while waiting for Angie to leave the theatre.

"You didn't have to do that, English!" Angie exclaimed. "I could have gotten you a seat, no problem!"

"Oh, I was well aware, but I wanted to support you in anyway I could," Peggy explained, taking a quick glance around. "And what of your family…?"

"They wanted to be here, really – Nonna, especially, but you know, show ends late and the trains…" Angie replied, waving a hand in the air. "No big deal. They'll come to the matinee this weekend. You're here though! That's all that matters and, uh, thanks for the roses. They're really lovely."

Once more, Peggy glanced down, perhaps to hide her sheepish smile. "Consider them a taste of my own theatrics," she said, gingerly picking up her purse from the ground.

Angie tilted her head to the side. Her brow furrowed in confusion.

"I'm, umm, I'm actually very terrible when it comes to… this sort of thing," Peggy confessed, her voice trailing off slightly. "And I hate to admit that I may have asked Howard, of all people, for a bit of help," she murmured.

Even more perplexed, Angie continued to watch in silence as Peggy, very carefully, unzipped her purse, as if afraid she would break or damage something unintentionally. When Peggy frowned lightly, Angie did the same, but it soon disappeared and was replaced by a wide smile. Feeling a bit misty-eyed, Angie blinked furiously as she reached out to take what Peggy pulled out of her purse.

A single violet flower.

It was missing a couple pedals, perhaps now at the bottom of Peggy's purse, but still.

It was a violet, more gorgeous than all twelve roses combined.

"They, umm," Peggy began, struggling as she watched Angie bring the flower up to her nose. "They're suppose to symbolize-"

"I know," Angie interrupted, well aware that this was not Peggy's strong suit and just how much it must have taken to give Angie this little gift. Even still, Peggy had a hard time being close, at letting people in.

This wasn't just Angie's start. It was Peggy's too.

**To be continued.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Title**: Of Flowers and Dances

**Author**: AoN (bellalinguista)

**Word Count**: 3,800

**Summary**: "Oh, you should have seen the bouquet of flowers she gave me when I made my Broadway debut," Angie told Steve with a faint smile. "I wanted to return the gesture when SHIELD was established, but they don't really do bouquets for founding a government agency."

**Notes:** Based off the conversation between Steve and Angie from my fic, _Lapses_.

**Chapter Two: Dances**

The subway would have sufficed, as it had for every morning and late afternoon commute to and from the SSR offices, but Peggy opted for a taxi home instead. After all, it was not everyday one received a promotion.

She could have called Mr. Jarvis, who would have probably complied with her request, but this was her quickest option to get her back home to the mansion. There was one person she needed to talk to about this new development and something told her that Mr. Jarvis was probably already well aware of it.

Honestly, now that the thought crossed her mind, Peggy was a bit surprised that her dear friend hadn't been waiting outside the telephone company, car waiting.

The taxi stopped in front of their building. After paying the driver and climbing out of the car, Peggy made her way inside. Per Angie's request, made a couple weeks after they had moved in together, Peggy unlocked the door as loudly as she could and made a point to close it behind her with a pretty decent slam.

Peggy was a rather quite person – something that was required in her line of work, naturally. It was also something of which Angie was not a fan ("Listen up, English, I really don't wanna jump out of my skin every time you come home from God knows where").

She dropped her keys with a clatter onto the edge of the rosewood console table in the hallway. They landed next to Angie's, signaling to Peggy that she was indeed home.

"Peg? That you?"

"Yes, darling," Peggy called back. Although, would an intruder admit otherwise? As she reached the end of the hallway that lead into the living room, Peggy spotted Angie peeking over the sofa where she probably had been lounging with a book, if Peggy were to guess. It was just another typical day off for Angie, her one day off a week to recover from tackling an eight-show schedule.

Angie frowned, "You're home awfully early."

No matter how the office events unfolded, Peggy was certain this would have been the end result either way: home just a little before noon, leaving the boys to pick up their own lunch orders for once. The new chief hadn't exactly been pleased with her adventure from the night before, but Peggy also wasn't pleased to be reduced to a secretary. Again.

"I am," Peggy confirmed, walking around the couch.

Angie leaned against the armrest again, returning to her lounging. Peggy gently nudged her legs off the opposite end of the couch so that she too could take a seat. Peggy glanced at the coffee table where she spotted a book, just as she had expected, but she didn't catch the title – not that it mattered.

What did matter was the fact that Angie could always grant her a sense of normalcy to balance out her own work life.

Speaking of work…

"How was the show last night?" Peggy asked. "Did your cousin and her husband enjoy it?"

"They enjoyed it, yeah," Angie answered quickly. "Came back to an empty house, though, and I didn't hear you get in – late night at the office?"

"One might say so, yes," Peggy replied, but offered nothing more. There were still some secrets between them and there would always be, given how often Peggy dealt with classified government information. There were others, however, that Angie now knew about – secrets that Peggy slowly revealed about herself.

No, she did not work for the telephone company, for starters, as Angie had accused after pulling her in through the window of the Griffith Hotel.

She worked for the government.

She was an agent – a spy – for a prime covert agency.

She started working for this agency – the SSR – during the war.

She often worked along side Captain America.

It had taken Peggy a bit longer to admit that he had also been her last love.

With every revelation, Peggy braced herself for an interrogation, but Angie's questions never crossed a line and in the case of the last reveal, they were not existent, perhaps out of respect. Whereas a whole nation mourned Captain America, much fewer mourned Steve Rogers.

"Not anything you can talk about?" Angie asked.

Talk about a mission that required three to five agents yet Peggy went off on her own regardless? No, Angie did not need that kind of worry – or to know that Peggy was actually that stubborn, but Angie probably was well aware of that fact already.

Nor could she really tell Angie that she went after a crime organization the SSR had been tracking down for a while, or that she recovered a mystery serum from said crime organization and that was why she had a rather late night yesterday.

"Not entirely, no," Peggy responded.

"And that's why you're home early, right? Your fathead new boss finally realized what an asset you are and gave you the rest of the day off?" Angie pressed on.

With a hum, Peggy frowned and looked away from Angie as she contemplated just what she should say, how she was going to answer. Perhaps she should have taken the subway home, or even taken a stroll through Central Park before returning to the mansion – anything to have given herself a bit more time to formulate a decent response.

There was no question about it – Peggy was more than thrilled to be leaving the SSR and to be joining Howard at SHIELD, excited even, and Angie would be as well, but another though did cross her mind. This promotion, although not distinctly stated, would involve relocation. She would have to leave New York.

And Peggy had, for all intents and purposes, already accepted the job.

"Um, no," Peggy began. "In fact, I believe one has to be employed by an establishment in order to have the rest of the afternoon off from it."

Angie pushed herself up with her elbow and exclaimed, "What?!" She scooted over, closer to Peggy.

"There's no need to fret-!"

"No need to fret?" Angie repeated, eyes narrowing. "Listen, Peg, I'll march down to that pseudo phone company myself and give 'em all a piece of my mind."

Leaning forward, Peggy placed her hands on Angie's shoulders in an attempt to calm her little Italian firecracker down. She could only imagine the havoc Angie would wreck on those poor SSR agents, especially Agents Thompson and Sousa. Tears were one thing –rage was another and Peggy wouldn't wish it upon them.

"That won't be necessary, dear, truly," Peggy tried to reassure. Perhaps she should have gone about this another way. "Howard called the office," she explained, failing to mention she had been in the midst of being reprimanded for doing her job better than all the other agents combined.

"Did Howard get you fired?! After everything you've done for him-!"

"He offered me a promotion," Peggy interrupted. "To help him better establish and lead SHIELD."

Under her hands, Peggy felt Angie's shoulders fall slightly. Good. She was calming down a bit. "Aww, Pegs, after everything you've done for him…" Angie's tone was suddenly gentler. The feisty Italian temper was once more at bay.

Crisis adverted.

Good work, Agent.

Well, no longer Agent – Chief? Director? Co-Director?

"And, I mean, you practically named it yourself," Angie added.

The memory made Peggy smile. It was only a couple months ago, in this very room, actually. She and Angie were sitting as they were now whereas Howard had occupied the armchair to Peggy's right. They had each had a generous glass of bourbon or two. Peggy and Howard had been sliding a piece of paper back and forth on the coffee table.

"_Does it really have to spell shield?" Howard questioned again, staring down at the paper with a frown. "I don't think Steve would mind-"_

"_It has to," Peggy replied, tone final. "Let's see what you got."_

_Howard extended his arm out, placing the piece of paper in Peggy's hand. Her nose wrinkled as she read, with Angie hovering over her shoulder._

"_That's the best you can come up with?" Angie was the first to comment. "Aren't you supposed to be a genius?"_

"_You can't rush genius!" Howard snapped as he leaned forward to try and snatch the paper from Peggy's grasp. She pulled it out of his reach. "Let's see you do any better!" he challenged._

"_That's quite enough bickering from you lot," Peggy remarked. "I'm sure Angie was only trying to offer a bit of constructive criticism – weren't you, dear?"_

_With a clank, Angie set her nearly empty glass down on the table and picked up her own pencil that was on top of her worn script – something or another about going over director's notes, about which she wasn't pleased. During her last glance at the thing, Peggy spotted some rather colorful words in Italian under the director's name. Angie, pencil in hand, reached around Peggy to draw a line through a word._

"_First thing's first, the word 'supreme' has to go otherwise you'll sound like a bunch of fatheads," Angie pointed out._

_Peggy took the pencil from her and circled two things, "And I rather like Enforcement and Division. They can stay."_

_Howard lifted his glass up and stared at the little amount of liquid inside. He was contemplating another refill. He was contemplating many things for that matter. "So, we're the Law-Enforcement Division," he said, emptying his glass._

"_I like 'enforcement,' not 'law-enforcement,'" Peggy calrified._

"_What's wrong with espionage?'" Howard asked._

"_I've had my fill of espionage, Howard, thank you," Peggy said dryly, holding out the paper to him._

_Ange pointed out "'International' and 'headquarters' won't work either. You'll sound like-"_

"_Yeah, yeah, yeah," Howard mumbled, snatching the revised paper from Peggy. He set his glass down on the coffee table. "I get it. Mind filling her up again, Peg?"_

"_Howard, that's your third glass-"_

"_How about we make the 'S' stand for 'strategic?'" Howard interrupted. "In honor of the ol' SSR. We have to honor our roots somehow, right?"_

"_Better than 'supreme,'" Angie noted._

_He scribbled in the corrections and handed the paper back to Peggy. Howard then scooted to the edge of the armchair's cushion to reach for the base of the near empty bottle of bourbon. Peggy quickly grabbed it by the neck._

"_This is a bunch of gibberish," she pointed out, waving the page in his face. "Did you write the first thing that came to mind?"_

_He mocked offense, "Of course not!"_

"_Well, if you add an ampersand, it makes sense," Angie remarked, once more reading over Peggy's shoulder. "Right here," she indicated._

_Peggy, letting go of the bottle to which Howard then helped himself, leaned back, resting herself against Angie comfortably. She scribbled in Angie's suggestion, but something was still off. "I'm not fond of the word 'hazard,'" she said._

"_Ugh, no," Angie agreed._

"_Any other ideas then?" Howard asked after a sip._

_It took a moment, but it came to her. "Yes, actually," she said, sitting up straight. "How do we feel about 'homeland?'"_

"_Better than 'hazard' and 'headquarters,' I'll tell you that," Angie replied. "I mean, that's what I'd prefer if I were a super secret spy, but I'm not-"_

"_A super secret spy would deny being a super secret spy, wouldn't they?" Howard questioned._

_Angie nodded, "And they'd tell cute waitresses at diners that they worked at the telephone company."_

"_So, we all agree on 'homeland?'" Peggy repeated, speaking up just a tad bit louder._

_Biting back a laugh, Howard grinned and nodded, "Do we have our SHIELD then?"_

"_I believe we do," Peggy replied. "The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."_

With a light chuckle, Peggy shrugged her shoulders. "Honestly, I think that was more of a group effort than anything else," she reminded.

In return, Angie flashed her a small smile, very much aware of who suggested that much needed ampersand. She didn't say anything else – there was no witty remark, just silence. She was waiting, they both were, for what had to be revealed next. Whereas the SSR had multiple branches and offices throughout the world, SHIELD, an up and coming intelligence agency, did not.

SHIELD only had one office.

And it was not in New York City.

"It's, uh, the job," Peggy clarified. "It would be in D.C."

Peggy waited and watched for a reaction, any form of a reaction, from her, but nothing changed. Angie still had that small smile. It did thin a bit, but nothing more. Angie took Peggy's hands into her own and gave them a gentle squeeze.

"We should go dancing!" Angie stated.

"Angie-"

"We'll figure it out later, English, okay?" Angie said. "But right now? Nah, we got to celebrate. This is big! Broadway debut big! But I don't think I can walk into the local flower shop and ask for a bouquet for my girlfriend who's gonna go run a government intelligence agency. What type of flowers would you even give for something like that? Doesn't matter – I can still take my girl dancing and that's exactly what I'm gonna do."

Peggy looked down at their intertwined hands. The corners of her lips tugged into a smile. Her thumbs gently messaged the back of Angie's hands. She couldn't exactly say no, not that Peggy wanted to, but this conversation wasn't going to continue. She knew Angie wouldn't let it. Angie was right – this was something to celebrate.

Everything else, they would worry about later.

"You're amazing, you know that?" Peggy said softly, looking back up at her.

"You're not so bad yourself, English," Angie replied, pulling Peggy into a kiss.

**xxxx**

They had decided to go to their usual jazz club downtown – why stray from tradition? Peggy remembered the first time they came together, not too soon after she revealed she loved dancing one night in Angie's room at the Griffith while they were conversing over leftover pie Angie had taken from the automat. Yes, she loved dancing, but she hadn't been since before the war. When Angie had asked why not, Peggy had given a simple answer.

She'd been waiting for the right partner.

Angie had teased that maybe she could be that partner.

Peggy had played along, unable to bring herself to talk about Steve to Angie just yet. So, Peggy had well though out excuses for the first few times Angie had invited her. After the fourth 'sorry, I can't,' Angie had stopped asking altogether and probably had accepted that they probably never would go, that there would always be an excuse.

It wouldn't be until after they had moved into Howard mansion that Peggy had finally brought up working with Captain America, being so close to Steve Rogers, and their promised date.

8 o'clock, on the dot, at the Stork Club, a Saturday that had never happened.

So Angie had been a bit surprised when Peggy had asked her to finally go dancing and Peggy had known she had been surprised – there hadn't been any sassy or witty remarks, no projected stubbornness. Angie had understood how big of a step that had been for her.

Peggy had known Angie was a good dancer. Angie often practiced in their living room, but not Peggy (not until after their dance together anyway). Angie had been impressed ("well, look at you, English!") as they had gracefully moved from one style of swing to another.

By the end of the night, neither of them had been able to remember the last time they had laughed so hard or had moved so much. They had returned back home, not entirely sober either. Angie claimed they had been very intoxicated, but Peggy insisted they had been tipsy, no matter how much Angie claimed that she would have been able to unlock the front door had she just been tipsy.

Since then, they returned as often as possible, sometimes just because and other times because of special occasions, like tonight. They took their familiar spot on the dance floor – off to the left. Angie would love to be dead in the center, under the lights, but Peggy was never one who wanted to be the center of attention. Not usually, anyway.

Sometimes, it was fun, actually.

Naturally, Peggy was a bit surprised when Angie didn't want to be in the middle of the dance floor. She wasn't herself. Something was off.

Not that Peggy could blame her, not after the news she came home with. They should be talking, not celebrating – and certainly not dancing.

The fast pace of the music came to an end. They lingered for a moment, as did everyone else, waiting for the next tune to begin. Normally, when the band started to paly something slow, as they did now, both Angie and Peggy took it as a sign to retreat, to stop off the dance floor for a break and overpriced drinks.

But this time…

"And may I have this dance as well?" Peggy asked, almost teasingly in her attempt to get a rise out of partner.

She expected a headshake, followed by an eye roll and an accompanied witty remark ending with 'English.' Instead, Angie gave her a sweet, small smile and a nod. "I'd like that, English," she also added.

As Angie snaked her arms around Peggy's waist, Peggy rested her forearms on top of Angie's shoulders. They swayed back and forth to the music together, eyes locked on each other as they paid attention to no one else.

It was nice – perhaps they should slow dance more often. Even at home, it was a rare occasion.

But then Angie glanced down and then to the right, struggling to make eye contact again. Peggy frowned. She felt her heart drop. This was it, wasn't it? This was the moment where the gravity of the situation Peggy had put them in finally made itself known, refusing to be ignored any longer.

"Ang-"

"Listen, Peg," Angie cut her off. "I gotta say something."

"Perhaps we should have this conversation at home?" Peggy suggested.

"Perhaps," Angie agreed. "But, English, I have to say it now before I lose my nerve so, uh, don't interrupt."

"Darling-"

"Please?"

Falling silent, Peggy nodded.

For a few short moments, they did not speak and feigned to enjoy the band as they continued to rock back and forth. Angie was looking down again, leaving a frowning Peggy to her own thoughts and assumptions.

"I ain't no Captain America and I won't ever be."

At once, Peggy stopped moving. Angie stumbled slightly and looked up, finally meeting Peggy's eye again and witnessing her confusion.

"Then again, I don't think anyone could," Angie went on with a small shrug and a faint, grim smile. "Compare to him, I mean – and I don't wanna be," she added.

"Angie," Peggy spoke up again. "What is this about exactly?"

She shook her head. "Now what did I tell you about interrupting me?"

Not to do it, Peggy reminded herself. She wasn't very good with orders, however.

"Come on, now – dance with me, English," Angie said softly, taking a tiny step forward and bringing herself closer to her dance partner. Angie took the lead and they started dancing again.

This time it was Peggy who needed to look away. For a moment, Peggy was glad that they were here. That they weren't dancing by themselves in their living room where Angie had a tendency to rest her head against Peggy's shoulder as they embraced and held each other tightly. Peggy was certain if Angie had been any closer, she'd be able to hear Peggy's racing heart.

It took a lot to make Peggy Carter nervous. She was probably even a bit afraid. She was unprepared for what came next.

"Everyone's says we have to continue with our lives, you know, "Angie began. "It's over – the war, I mean – and we should go back to how things used to be. We should move on, as though the things that happened, as if they haven't changed us, didn't affect us. They did, y'know? I'm rambling and I'm terrible at this. I don't know what I'm doing."

Since she wasn't allowed to interrupt, Peggy just nodded, earning herself a snort in reply.

"I guess… I guess what I'm trying to say," Angie tried again. "is that I wanna continue on with you. I wanna be a part of your life for as long as you'll let me because I knew – God – I knew from the first day you came into the automat that I was in trouble. And it had nothing to do with your secret double agent life," she quickly added, lowering her voice.

Peggy found herself looking at Angie once again. Although she sighed a heavy sigh of relief, her heart was still racing, but now for an entire different reason. Angie's sheepish grin was followed by a light laugh. She was probably enjoying the dumbfound expression on Peggy's face.

"I was in trouble," Angie continued. "Because for the first time in my life – and hopefully the last, if you let me – I was falling in love and, Peggy, I haven't stopped. I don't care if it's New York, D.C., or, hell, the frigging moon, for all I care – I wanna be a part of your life. For as long as… well, I'd be happy with forever. …What do you say?"

They stopped moving on the dance floor again. Peggy felt frozen in place, felt as though her surroundings were disappearing, that they were all alone, just the two of them. The music faded. Peggy could no longer hear the live musicians over the loud ringing in her ears, over her own heartbeat. There was a lump in her throat and stinging tears in her eyes that blinded her slightly.

Blinking furiously, Peggy attempted to reel in her emotions. It wasn't often that she was sideswiped like this. Then again, it wasn't often that the person one truly cared for confused their love either.

She could feel Angie shift on her feet uncomfortably, waiting for an answer.

"I hear the theatre is rather shite on the moon," Peggy tried to say seriously, with a straight face. "But, darling, if that's where you want to spend forever, then I will be at your side."

**End**


End file.
